The fear of it happening all over again.
Another tragic phone call,
Police at our door,
Having to use a wash rag to wipe your tears since you ran out of tissues.
I'm afraid of it happening again.
I'm afraid of getting the report back,
Because only god knew what happened.
I'm afraid of letting my mom read it and seeing her hurt.
I'm afraid of knowing my grandma won’t get out of bed for days because she's hurting.
I'm afraid of more sudden news.
The fact that it happened and I never wanted to.
My greatest fear is something I cannot control.
I'm afraid of it happening again,
I'm afraid to have to deal with everything all over again.
By Piper Tate, age 14
When last we left this saga, I had come out the other side of two intense years of obsessive hate games a newer, lighter version of myself, the result of the gifts of my required spiritual growth. (Do you need to catch up? Hate Games. What To Do When You Are The Target of Someone’s Hate. From a Spiritual Perspective). Or listen to the Audio Version, read by me.
My teachers came in the form of two neighbors who I refer to as Mr. and Mrs. X. To briefly sum up the situation: I was President of our neighborhood Home Owners’ Association Board; they decided to paint their brick without permission; we asked them to stop and take the paint off; they asked me to intervene on their behalf to sway the Board in their favor. I did not. They retaliated by spying on my husband and I, taking photos and videos of us and then creating stories about all the nefarious ways in which we were a neighborhood nuisance.
It started out fine. The relationship, that is. We had just moved in and they were our neighbors across the street. I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. X.
As soon as our moving van pulled up, Mrs. X came over to introduce herself. She was chatty with a wide smile and the type of conversational cadence that doesn’t leave room for commentary nor waits for replies. Within the first 15 minutes of talking she asked me what church I went to and what school my daughter attended. In the South, these two questions are often asked of perfect strangers and I’ve never gotten used to it. I mumbled something about being a recovering Catholic, to which she replied: That’s just because you need the right church!